


sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds

by myrtlewilson



Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Actor/Model!Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Actress/Model! Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Geralt and Jaskier and Yennefer co-parent/raise Ciri, Geraskier Week, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Professor!Jaskier | Dandelion, Social Anxiety, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, established geralt/jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:26:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlewilson/pseuds/myrtlewilson
Summary: Jaskier shushes him, hand on Geralt’s arm. “If we don’t do it now, when will we? I’m not ashamed. We have nothing to hide.”He is proud of how his voice doesn’t waver.Or, Geralt and Jaskier make the decision to publicly come out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633645
Comments: 88
Kudos: 908
Collections: these bitches gay! good for them!!





	sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds

**Author's Note:**

> For Geraskier Week, Day Four: "Hurt/Comfort"
> 
> Forewarning again for some unsavory online homophobia, xenophobia and otherwise nasty comments from internet trolls.

The decision to come out publicly isn’t easy. Geralt and Jaskier pour over the pros and cons for months before pulling the trigger. 

There’s a lot to factor in between the two of them, for Geralt especially, and neither of them want to take it lightly. It’s understandable. For as progressive as the world paints itself, two men in their prime — especially when one of them had been in a highly publicized, committed relationship with a woman for years, which produced a daughter as a result — coming out is still nerve racking. Hard. 

It’s probably one of the hardest things Jaskier has ever had to do. It opens up a part of his life that has sat private for years. It brings back the fear he had as a teen: waiting for the wrong person to find out and make his life a living hell. Or, worse, waiting for people who he thought were his friends to turn on him in disgust.

Geralt, though, he makes it worth the anxiety, Jaskier thinks. The man stands to lose just as much as Jaskier does — more probably, as the face of an action movie franchise which paints Geralt as the man men should want to be. Yet he faces the prospect of coming out with more clarity and decisiveness than Jaskier could ever hope to have.

“Are you sure?” Geralt asks for the final time. They’re in bed together, huddled close over Geralt’s phone. His finger is poised over Instagram ‘share’ button, ready to send out a somewhat sappy post about their anniversary. “We can still back out and—,”

Jaskier shushes him, hand on Geralt’s arm. “If we don’t do it now, when will we? I’m not ashamed. We have nothing to hide.”

He is proud of how his voice doesn’t waver. 

The plan was to make a big to-do about it, maybe come out in an interview or in a video sanctioned by Geralt’s PR team, but both had decided in the end that it was better if they just did it themselves. Or rather, did it for themselves.

At this point, only three people knew of their plan beforehand.

Triss, Geralt’s head of media relations, had given it an enthusiastic thumbs up. She had assured she could run interference on any negative spin which arose from the announcement, but didn’t anticipate anything too wild. 

They had also given a heads up to Yennefer, Geralt’s ex-wife who he remained on incredibly good terms with. The split was amicable and years ago now — two people who made for great friends but with too similar a drive to succeed and too little a care for compromise to make it work. She wished them luck, and Jaskier knew she meant it. 

The last person they told was Ciri, Geralt’s teen daughter, who merely rolled her eyes and fondly told them that it was about time. Jaskier has known her for quite some time now, since before he and Geralt had gotten together, and knew that despite her flippancy she was equally as enthusiastic as Triss about the prospect. Maybe even more so. 

With that out of the way, the only thing stopping them was themselves. 

“Last chance,” warns Geralt, but he’s sporting an almost smile. The photo of him and Jaskier is a good one, maybe even Jaskier’s favorite now, if he’s to be honest. 

It’s nothing crazy — Geralt’s arm is slung around Jaskier’s waist, the actor pressing a kiss into his partner’s hair as Jaskier wrinkles his nose in mock disgust and pretends to pull away. It was from earlier last week, at a New Years party hosted by Geralt’s good friend and gym buddy, Yarpin. 

The shot is very them, Jaskier thinks. And now, by sharing this part of his life with the world, it’ll be everyone else’s business too.

He leans over Geralt’s broad chest and pushes the button to post. The app clicks back to Geralt’s main feed and, as it refreshes, there’s their post at the very top. 

_“Happy fifth anniversary to @JaskierWritesPoetry — nothing makes me happier than knowing you’re in my life, songbird. #YesThisIsOurComingOutPost”_

It’s simple and to the point, sure, but it’s theirs and that’s what matters. Come morning, they’ll deal with whatever happens. If anything happens at all, that is.

Who knows? With Geralt as a movie star and he as a university professor, who moonlights as a budding songwriter, maybe this will go completely under the radar. Hell, maybe this might not even _reach_ radar status. One could only foolishly hope. 

Jaskier bats the phone away and rolls over, reminding Geralt to text Triss now that the post is live. The man does and plugs sets about plugging in and silencing his phone. When he’s settled, Geralt rolls over too and takes Jaskier into his arms. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says, “it’s not easy—,”

“Us,” Jaskier corrects. He kisses Geralt hard in the middle of his palm. “We did this. Together. So, I’m proud of us.”

“Proud of us, then.” He kisses Jaskier right back on his exposed shoulder. “Very proud.”

And while his stomach is a vessel being tossed around on turbulent seas, Jaskier falls asleep almost instantly that night.

* * *

In the morning there are messages — _thousands_ of them. 

His Instagram notification feed is absolutely destroyed with message requests and likes, and his follower count shoots to nearly quadruple of what it was the night before. Jaskier’s not sure who any of these people are but in less than twelve hours they’ve found his Insta, Twitter, YouTube, university email address — even the Tumblr he made out of curiosity and only ever posted to for a month or so — they’ve found almost _everything_ associated with his name or brand.

He doesn’t look at any of them. Geralt told him that it’d be best to let them lie for a week or two and give his handles over to Triss’s team, to have them clear out anything that’s spam or otherwise unnecessary. 

Geralt’s situation is no different. Triss wakes him around 9 a.m. with a call to set up a small media circuit comprising interviews with Vogue, W, Vanity Fair, GQ and some other publications whose names feature the ending letters of the alphabet. He’s a hot topic, she tells them, and for the next few weeks — maybe months — they’d better get used to more intense scrutiny and comments online. 

Apparently all of Hollywood is in a tizzy over their hottest leading man being bisexual. There’s a trending tag on Twitter, most of it good and made up of well wishers, but some of it is vile. Jaskier skims through some buy ignores most of it despite wanting to read further. Geralt tells him explicitly to pay it no mind.

It seems that those who can’t secure an interview with Geralt due to their less than savory opinions on the situation have turned to churning out fucking think pieces about the effeminizing factors of entertainment and the death of red-blooded American heterosexuals — which Jaskier particularly finds this funny since he’s still here on a green card from Poland and Geralt is Canadian.

So, it’s not bad, but it could be better. Could be worse, too. 

“So…,” Jaskier starts, “how are we feeling?” 

Geralt has hung up on Triss and this point and is massaging his temples like he’s trying to thwart a coming migraine. He turns to Jaskier and makes a face. 

“I… I honestly didn’t think it’d be this big a deal,” he says, voice still rumble-y from sleep, “like, I knew it’d get some attention but…,”

“You’re a big deal, Geralt,” Jaskier reminds him. “People are going to care. For a little while, at least.” He playfully leans forward and tweaks his boyfriend’s nose. “Don’t let it go to your head though, lovely. I’ll always be here to remind you that you’re human. Like how you told that absolutely _horrific_ pun to Ciri the other day that—,”

Geralt abruptly pitches his body sideways so that his whole mass lands on Jaskier, who squeals out a laugh and smothers the rest of his sentence.

“Just,” Geralt sighs, “promise me you’ll let me know if anything bothers you about this, alright? This is as much about you as it is about me.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. In the twenty odd years you’ve known me, including the five we’ve been dating, have I _ever_ held my tongue around you?”

“Only when it’s… _busy_.” He makes a face that Jaskier assumes is supposed to be sexy, but the jungle of bed head that Geralt is sporting really throws the look off. 

He laughs at Geralt instead, smushing his boyfriend’s face between his hands as he calls him an idiot. 

Yeah, they’ll be okay. Probably. 

* * *

The media circuit takes Geralt away from home for awhile, which is fine since it’s shorter than what a usual film press junket runs and there’s more flexibility in scheduling. 

“I’ll be home in two weeks, maybe three,” Geralt tells him between kisses, standing with one proverbial foot out their front door, “but back before you even know it.”

“I always notice when you’re gone,” says Jaskier, turning his face so Geralt’s kisses pepper him everywhere, “ _And the coolness of your smile is stirring of birds between my arms, but I should rather than anything have…_ oh I’m forgetting the rest of the verse, but it ends with a testament to your kiss.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Ever the poet.”

“E.E. Cummings, actually.” Jaskier steps back and runs a hand through his boyfriend’s hair, tucking one loose strand behind Geralt’s ear. “Though, I’m tickled you think I’m talented enough to write such verses.”

And then Geralt is gone, spirited from their house in Beverly Hills to New York, then Boston, Chicago and back to L.A. Eventually. 

It works in their favor though. 

Jaskier teaches at a local liberal arts university which costs more money for a single semester’s worth of tuition than he paid for his entire college career. And with the winter break winding down, he needs a moment to catch up on new semester work and looking into any last minute coursework appeals.

He is busy enough with his own life that he doesn’t have time to think about social media or care about gossip. Whatever people are saying online is their own prerogative, and Jaskier has better things to do than wonder if anonymous America likes him and what they’re saying about Geralt. 

Jaskier is, woefully, human though, so it’s day four into Geralt’s leave is when he cracks and ends up looking back through his Instagram and Twitter. 

It’s easier to browse by Geralt’s name rather than his own. The Vanity Fair interview was first on Geralt’s docket and while the piece isn’t out yet, there are some absolutely stunning photos from Annie Leibovitz which tease the coming print package online. Jaskier absolutely saves them to his phone and laptop. 

He pauses, however, when he sees a listacle styled piece from Perez Hilton entitled: “Who is Julian Pankratz? Five fast facts about Geralt O. Rivia’s partner.” The publication is a far, far cry from anything Geralt is doing, but like a siren song Jaskier feels lured to click on it out of gross curiosity.

“ _If you had a 5’9” dweeby Polish Jew on your bingo card for whoever was going to be action star Geralt Rivia’s rebound from the smoking hot leading lady turned political powerhouse Yennefer Vengerberg — congrats,”_ reads the lede. _“You’re a winner. But is Geralt?”_

 _Rebound_? Did five years count as a rebound relationship? 

The rest of the article — blog post, really — is all bare bones stuff scraped from social media. His religion is made apparent from a Boomerang Insta post of him showing Ciri how to use the shammash on Hanukkah; what he did for work was listed on LinkedIn, his birthday on Facebook and so on. 

Honestly, he feels stupid for not making his things private before going public but hindsight _is_ 20/20 and Jaskier naively thought he wasn’t important enough for people to care this much about who he was or what he did. 

It’s the little comments, though, that get to him: that he’s a gold digger, that he’s only using Geralt’s dual-citizenship as a way to come to America, that he’s somehow blackmailing his boyfriend because there’s no way someone as hot as Geralt would _settle_ for someone as plain as Jaskier.

That last one hurts a bit more than the others.

Jaskier wastes most of the day going through posts about the two of them instead of updating his syllabus. Comments made, he’s found, can be broken into three categories: congratulatory well-wishers, conservative concern trolls wondering just _how_ they’ll explain this to their children in today’s society, and everyone else. 

The first is nice and the second are always expected any time anyone gay and prominent rears their head in the media. The third group, however, is what ends up occupying most of Jaskier’s headspace.

“ **Sophie Bergara** @ so _sosophie25_ : **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _coming out? Wild. The dude he was with in that picture though? Wilder omfg”_

 _“_ **Occupy Meme Street** _@_ _LeanMemes4EdgyTeens_ _: the fact that_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _is in a committed relationship with a solid four gives me hope I’m not gonna die alone”_

 _“_ **millie** _@_ _guccighoul_ _:_ ** _Geralt Rivia_** _announcing he divorced Yennefer Vengerberg to date some fat twink (who’s a college prof????) is the biggest OOF since we decided that the fucking suicide squad movie needed to be made_

 _“_ **stan BTS or d/word** _@_ _b0yvvithluv_ : _THAT’S the guy_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _decided to go after post-Yennefer???? love really is blind tbh”_

 _“_ **Zen (Commissions: CLOSED)** _@_ _fangtastickk_ : _dude must be a monster in bed because you know_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _isn’t keeping him around for his looks lol”_

 _“_ **🧝♀️❤️** _@_ _ripsrepsrevelations_ _: sfjdjfh_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _can do SO much better”_

Jaskier ends up deleting both the Twitter and Instagram apps off his phone but can’t bring himself to delete his handles entirely. Too much of his work is tied into his social media handles and the thought of losing the ability to post his writings wins out over the mortifying ordeal of being ripped to shreds for falling in love with someone way out of his league.

He knows Geralt is more handsome, talented and an all around better person than Jaskier deserves. But he’d always assumed it was his own, natural human nature which made him doubt his own self-worth. To see it confirmed by people who didn’t even know Jaskier existed until less than a day ago — it’s rough.

Worse than that, it’s _embarrassing_. 

He’s the vivisected frog from biology class, innards pulled outwards for the world to see. He knew this could happen and carried forward with it anyways. He let himself get his hopes too high — that the world would just blindly welcome them — and now he’s being put in his place.

When Geralt FaceTimes later that night, Jaskier doesn’t mention anything he read online. His boyfriend just looks so _happy_ , telling Jaskier about all the positive reception he’s been getting since they made the post that it almost feels wrong to bring it up.

Instead he tells Geralt about how Yen told him Ciri is now obsessed with learning to rock climb since finding _Free Solo_ on Netflix and that the two of them might pitch in for bouldering lessons as a birthday present. It’s a testament to how good a mood Geralt is because — usually ever the worry wart over his darling daughter and her safety — he doesn’t even bat an eye at the thought. 

“The interviews are, strangely, going really great,” says Geralt when Jaskier asks about them. “I’ve put in a good word for you. So good, in fact, they’re wondering if you’ll ever agree to come for one.”

“How _benevolent_ ,” Jaskier coos, “my knight in shining armor.”

“Actually,” Geralt looks down and the angle gives him a horribly funny looking double chin, “it’s Adidas sweats and that old t-shirt I got from running the Posada Ironman. Also, I haven’t showered today.”

Jaskier groans as if the thought makes him deliriously horny and makes a pump fake motion like he’s touching his cock. “Gods _yes,_ tell me more, darling.”

“You’re the worst,” it’s obvious Geralt is trying not to laugh, because he makes the ultra-stern ‘no nonsense’ face he usually sports but his lips are turned up at the corners. “I hate you.”

Something pangs in Jaskier’s chest. “No you don’t.” 

And Geralt must pick up that something’s wrong because he reassures quickly, “no. No I don’t. I love you, meadowlark.”

“And I love you too.” Jaskier sighs. “I’m sorry, Geralt. Just—,” and he means to say something about the comments and the idea that Jaskier could be _using_ him, which is so off the mark but he needs Geralt to know he would _never_ , and—

“I’m _so_ behind on my coursework,” he says instead, “it’s just been hell to motivate myself without you around. And the thought of waiting until the last minute is anxiety inducing but the thought of starting my planning now I just— _ugh_.”

“ _Julian._ Breathe.”

“I know, I know. But—,” Jaskier covers his face with his free hand and groans. “This will pass, I just need to calm down. I just need to calm down. I just need— _oh my god_ , look it’s probably really late where you are, yeah?”

“Well, I—,”

“And I know you’re due into Chicago early, so I’m not going to keep you up any longer okay? But I love you!” Jaskier’s words come out in a rush. “I love you and I’ll see you soon okay? Goodnight! Kisses!”

“Jul—,”

He hangs up the phone before Geralt can say anything then rifles it across the room. It doesn’t hit the wall on impact, but it skids across the floor and knicks the molding so it’s effectively the same thing. 

Jaskier rolls over in their too big bed and grabs one of Geralt’s pillows. It still smells like him, which it should, because it’s only been a few days, but Jaskier isn’t really in his right mind to think too hard about it. Instead he places it over his face and screams into it until he’s let most of his frustrations out.

When he feels not better, but satisfied, Jaskier rolls over and falls asleep with the bedroom light still on and the pillow still over his head. 

* * *

The next several days consist of Jaskier looking at himself in the mirror then putting on the absolute biggest things of Geralt’s he can find and hiding away in the study until it’s time for him to go to bed or not even getting out of bed in the first place.

 _What does Geralt even see in you anyways?_ Jaskier thinks to his reflection, pulling at the crow’s feet around his eyes, like if he pulls hard enough they’ll just go away. 

He doesn’t really leave the house, mainly because he doesn’t have to. All his work can be done via phone or email, and none of his colleagues need to see him or the disheveled state he’s in to complete their or his work. He turns in his syllabi to the chancellor and starts sending out welcome emails to those already on his tentative class list, reminding them of the reading that’s just been posted to Blackboard. 

Jaskier doesn’t have Ciri for the next two weeks either, the girl just having returned to Yennefer’s the day after Geralt left and not coming back until after his tour. Yennefer had planned for the two to go backpacking and sightseeing outside of D.C. during the scant time Ciri had left in her break.

She had even invited Jaskier along, long before this self-pity party had begun, but he’d declined, citing the need to work. 

Now, he’s wishing he would have, if only to get out of his own head. Then again — would it have stopped him from looking up all the shit being said about him online? Would he have just had a breakdown in front of Yennefer? 

_God_ , Jaskier thinks _,_ scratching at his chin, which has begun to sport an impressive length of facial hair, _that would have really been something_.

He closes his laptop and pointedly ignores a text from Geralt asking about his day. Instead, Jaskier sends his boyfriend back a picture of a coffee cup with the message “second pot since 8 :(“ and redownloads both Twitter and Instagram.

It’s something of a sick fascination that keeps Jaskier coming back to reading these comments. He’s had bad reviews on work before, and while those were a gutpunch, especially in the early years of his career, this is something else. 

Because it’s one thing to dislike his poetry or short stories or songs; it’s another thing completely to dislike Jaskier as he is, in the way he presents himself. There’s nothing he can do to change who he is: he could lose weight, denounce his faith, grow out his beard like he has — but he’d still be Jaskier in the end.

Useless, ugly Jaskier. _Stupid_ Jaskier.

He leaves the study to go back to the bedroom, to lay there and check emails every tells himself, but really it’s to read more comments about what a failure he is with the blankets pulled up way over his head.

“ **bastian, un-retire** @ BayernBellaBabyyy : **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _being in a relationship with a dude wouldn’t be so bad if the guy didn’t look like a human chipmunk with chest hair_

 _“_ **Watch Baskin on Hulu** _@_ _karmaqueenofkatz_ _: “have you listened to_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _’s bf’s songs? lmao I’m SSCREAMING whatever his day job is hebetter not quit it_

 _“_ **bill hader’s left eyelash** _@_ _jenniejostarr_ _:_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _being into homely twinks past their prime is the biggest plot twist of this century”_

 _“_ **rawr rawr raspUwU-teens** @ deadstarbellamy : _the fact_ **_Geralt Rivia_ ** _’s bf/partner is ugly is SO insulting like?? You have all his money and won’t even make yourself look good?? GIVE IT TO SOMEONE WHO WILL fhsjdhd i HATE rich bitches“_

Jaskier goes to bed just after five that afternoon with the help of some NyQuil and sleeps right through Geralt’s nightly call. 

He dreams of being 14-years-old again and getting pecked to death by the Twitter bird icon, whose chirps sound suspiciously like _faggot, faggot_ whenever it opens it’s beak. 

* * *

“ _Hope you had a good day. See you soon. love you xx_ ”

That’s the message waiting for Jaskier when he wakes up around 6 a.m. He sends a heart in reply then goes back to bed.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s just before nine. Jaskier checks the time, then the date, then the time again and sits up in a blind panic as he remembers the mandatory, in-person training seminar he has at 10 a.m. that — with traffic — he’ll never make. 

Jaskier flies into the study, phone in hand, already dialing the head of university resources. 

“I’m so sorry,” he explains, trying to make his voice sound raspier for effect, “I caught the flu earlier this week and,” he broke into exaggerated coughs, “I thought I’d be better by now I just —,”

“There’s another training session scheduled for next week, the day before courses start,” the woman replies in a bored tone, “I can put you down for that, Doctor Pankratz?”

“Please, _please_ that’d be wonderful.”

“But if you miss this one, know Chancellor de Boot will need to have a meeting with you and you may face some form of repremanding. We’re required by the state to hold these, you know and—,”

“Yes,” Jaskier says, “yes, again I’m _so_ sorry—,”

“Just because you’re dating a celebrity, sir, unfortunately doesn’t entitle you to celebrity treatment. You’re still one of us _lowly_ people, unfortunately.” The receptionist giggles as if she’s made a particularly funny joke but Jaskier feels like he’s been doused in ice water. “Just make sure you can make it to the next one and we’ll count on seeing you there. Okay, doc?”

He must have said yes because the next thing Jaskier is aware of is the sound of silence. She’d hung up. She’d hung up but before she’d done that, she’d made a comment about him. About Geralt. About _them_.

Of course it wouldn’t just stay online — of _course_ not.

Jaskier’s hands shake as he puts the phone down on the desk and makes it for the bathroom, fearing he might throw up. He doesn’t, he knows he’s just being dramatic but —

But she _knew_ . She knew about Jaskier and Geralt and she joked about them, about him, like the thought of the two of them together was _funny_ . Like the idea Jaskier would be with Geralt was _hilarious_.

 _You’re overreacting,_ he tries to tell himself, knowing it’s the anxiety talking. But it’s precisely because it’s the anxiety that he can’t stop overthinking it, hyperfixating on everything and everyone who might even be minutely critical of their relationship.

Jaskier turns on the sink and splashes his face with water but doesn’t bother to dry it. The cold drips into his collar, the front of the pullover considerably drenched. He can feel it on his chest. He can feel it on his throat. 

His breath is heaving now, faster than it should be, and the thought crosses his mind: maybe he should do the right thing. Maybe he _should_ break up with Geralt. Maybe this has just been a farce for the last five plus years and — and well, if people were serious, there’d be some _show_ of it yes? When Geralt married Yen, he’d only known her for six months and they’d had Ciri a year later. 

Sure, sure they got divorced three or four years later — but they’d still been _married_. Married! It took Jaskier five years before Geralt would even publicly admit they were together! 

“No, no — that’s not fair,” he mumbles to himself, resting his back against the door and slumping to the floor. He puts his head in his hands, then puts both between his knees. “You’re not being fair.”

He sits and sits and sits and sits until his breathing evens out and his hands stop shaking, until the hot prickle behind his nose and eyes go away and he’s not at risk of sobbing. He sits there until his crew neck is dry. He sits there for so long that when he comes out of the bathroom, the sky is a different color entirely and the sun’s in a different position. 

When Jaskier finally stands, he decides that the best thing he can do is let Geralt realize that keeping him around for this long has been a mistake; that the best thing to do for this entire situation is to end it. 

* * *

Geralt comes home two days later — two days after Jaskier has made up his mind, which hasn’t been swayed since.

He’s run the pros and cons in his journal — which almost feels funny since this was how the whole ordeal began in the first place — and rereads them twice to make sure he’s sound in his logic. 

The cons: Ciri would be terribly sad; Geralt might be too, though he’d get over it eventually; Jaskier would have to move, which would suck terribly with it being winter still _and_ the start of the semester; and Jaskier would be— well, it wouldn’t matter his emotional state, would it? 

It was the opposite of the whole point, really. 

The pros, though: Geralt could be with someone more his caliber; someone people wouldn’t think less of Geralt for; the other man could find someone who wouldn’t hold him down or hold him back, someone who—

His thoughts are cut off by two cold hands pressed to either sides of his neck. Jaskier yelps, slamming his journal down and pushing the hands away. Only one person insists on greeting him like that every _single_ time it’s cold out. 

“ _Geralt_!”

“You grew out your beard,” he rubs his face against Jaskier’s like a smug cat marking its territory, “I like it.”

Equally as cold lips follow the hands. They kiss at the knob of Jaskier’s jaw and up to his ear before being pushed away with an exasperated huff.

“And I _missed_ you,” Geralt all but purrs in his ear, arms winding around Jaskier’s shoulders, “you can’t push me away now.”

Jaskier breaks the embrace and turns around. Geralt looks so happy, it’s showing in his eyes and in the way he holds himself; he’s so _fucking_ happy, to be here that Jaskier can’t but he _has_ to and—

Geralt moves in to kiss him again but Jaskier holds him at bay, grabs him by the wrist and stands. 

“We—,” he clears his throat, “I have to talk to you. Come to the kitchen?”

While it’s phrased as a question they both know it’s anything but. Jaskier sits at the breakfast bar and Geralt stands on the other side of the island kitchenette, arms crossed, sporting a wary look.

Jaskier plays with the rings on his fingers, thinking of the best way to breach the topic. The extremely loud, gaudy clock from World Cost Market clicks on, making the seconds passing sound even more severe than they were.

 _I hate that clock_ , Jaskier thinks, _why have we never gotten rid of it? I’ve always hated that clock._

“Is everything…,” Geralt starts, just as Jaskier all but shouts, “I think we should take a break!”

It’s so quiet between the two of them, Jaskier can hear the water pipes in the walls give an ambient hum. Geralt looks the very definition of dumb-struck. His mouth is open, moving even, but no sound comes out.

The clock keeps ticking, ticking, ticking.

“I know people don’t usually mean this when they say it, but honestly: it really isn’t you, it’s me,” Jaskier says before Geralt can get his wits about him and start speaking. “Because — because here’s the thing, you’re Geralt Rivia, yeah? You’re the hottest leading man of the last two decades; you’re a sexy success story with a heart of gold who donates to horse rescues, has a repertoire longer than the _Poisonwood Bible_ , and still finds time to be an amazing dad on top of it all. 

“And you need somebody who can meet you there, you understand?” Jaskier twists his fingers and wrings his wrists, unable to look Geralt in the eye. “You need someone who’s at that same level — and that’s not me. I’m just… I’m just Jaskier. And that’s probably all I’ll ever be. So, I’m— _hey_ ! Where are you _going_?”

In a very Geralt fashion, the man has taken off on Jaskier mid-sentence to storm down the hall and into their bedroom. Jaskier can hear forceful zipping and rummaging before getting a face-full of papers and an angry looking boyfriend. Or, ex-boyfriend. Jaskier’s not quite sure. 

“Read it,” Geralt commands, “and when you’re done, I’ll be in the living room.”

He steps away, shoulders tight with anger, before Jaskier can even protest. Curiosity gets the better of him though, and he considers the slightly crumpled pile. 

In his hands appears to be a rough draft of the Vanity Fair piece. While Jaskier’s not entirely sure how Geralt got it — knowing that’s journalists were particularly dodgy about letting sources see their rough drafts, for fear of besmirch integrity — it’s here all the same. There’s no title, no author name, but it’s clear from the very first sentence and the heading stamped “PROPERTY OF VF — NO RECIRC” on every page that this is what it is.

Jaskier starts reading and nearly tears up on the spot. 

“ _We’re here to talk about Geralt Rivia and his coming out story and yet, a half an hour into our meeting and all the model-turned-action film star can talk about is his partner Julian._

_“He’s a professor, Geralt tells me, then corrects himself: technically, a doctor._

_“‘He’s probably the smartest person I’ve ever met,’ Geralt says, and his eyes light up in a way that tells me this isn’t for show — that the man before me has fallen into a love which would put Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to shame. ‘I don’t know anyone who knows as much as he does and yet is so… so down to earth. I don’t have to be anyone when I’m with him. I can just be Geralt.’_

_“That’s how most of our hour together goes: learning about how Julian Pankratz graduated from Oxford University with distinguished honors at 18 with degrees in Mathematics and Astronomy (but now has seven, including two doctorates in Polish history and English literature), how he speaks six languages (including two pseudo-dead ones) and how he’d been friends with Geralt for almost two decades before the pair finally got together._

_“I’ve learned very little about what this coming out means to Geralt, but I’ve learned Julian — who goes by the mononym Jaskier when performing or publishing poetry, of which, he has four books — loves red wine and disco music, can play the lute, wants a cat but is terribly allergic to them and gets along so well with Geralt’s daughter Cirilla that sometimes, Geralt confesses, he feels like there’s two children in the house.”_

Jaskier reads, keeps reading, until his eyes blur and his nose gets snotty. 

Geralt tells the journalist of the time they met, and how that was the moment he realized he was in love, though he didn’t know it; how the two remained friends for years and years, but all the while Geralt knew the feeling in the pit of his stomach was swirling with something other than friendship. 

That the day he knew he had to say something was when Jaskier collapsed at work, so sick with double pneumonia that he’d began spitting up blood, and Geralt, without hesitation, put his latest project on pause for a month to help nurse Jaskier better again. That he didn’t say anything until after they’d had a falling out _—_ which Jaskier remembers painfully as the worst two or so years of his life — because he realized a world without Jaskier was no world at all.

Jaskier doesn’t have to read the entire story to realize what he’s holding: it’s love. In his hands are roughly 2,000 words of love, unabashed and unadulterated, and Jaskier can only imagine what the other articles look like if this is just Geralt’s warm up interview.

If the Vanity Fair piece is just an appetizer, the whole media tour would leave him stuffed, bursting with loving affirmations; with the reassurance that Geralt loved him. _Loves_ him.

Jaskier blows his nose on a piece of paper towel before creeping into the living room, article copy still in hand. Geralt is nursing a stout glass of bourbon on the couch, gaze fixed out the window ahead of him, to the skyline. He doesn’t turn to look at Jaskier as he sits on the opposite end of the love seat, but still addresses him in a quiet voice.

“Before you speak,” he says, “let me say my piece.”

Jaskier sets down the rough draft on the end table nearest to him.

“Alright.”

Geralt takes a deep inhale and closes his eyes, like if he doesn’t look at Jaskier, it will be easier.

“When we decided to come out, we opened up ourselves to a lot of shit. I know this, you know this _—_ but knowing wasn’t going to make it easier... still _didn’t_ make it any easier.” Geralt’s voice is a rocky rumble which Jaskier strains to hear as if speaking any louder would break the spell of the moment. “For every one person telling you good job, there’s three more calling you some name either to your face or behind you back. I don’t have to tell you that.

“I’m used to this. I’m used to opening myself up for people to pick at, to pick apart. I’m used to people, fans or otherwise, thinking that because I’m _famous_ , for whatever that’s worth, that I owe them or they _own_ me.” Geralt sighs. “Yen was used to it because she’d been in the field for just as long as I had when we’d gotten together. There was no learning curve because we’d both _—_ well, I don’t have to tell you this. You know. 

“But with you, this was different. I could tell you all about how horrible people are, but until you experience it, it’s completely different. And throwing you in the deep end? That’s my fault.”

Jaskier makes a noise of protest but Geralt keeps talking. 

“I don’t regret coming out, but I regret making you experience this _—_ how nasty people can be when they think they’re entitled to something they don’t get,” Geralt turns to him, and his eyes are bright from drink and emotion, “I love you, Julian Alfred Pankratz _—_ and I love you _because_ you’re you, not despite it. I love you because you don’t look at me as _Geralt the Movie Star_ but _Geralt the Dad._ Or _Geralt the Dork_. You look at me and you see me, scars and all.

“Whatever you’ve read, whatever people told you _—_ and I know that’s where this is coming from, because never, in all the years we’ve been together, as a couple or as friends, have you spoken about yourself like this _—_ it’s not _true_ . It’s not _important_ , dove.” Geralt finishes his drink. “Nothing is important except for what we feel. And me? I love you. And you love me. Isn’t that enough? It’s that what it should be about?”

Jaskier is proper crying now, face blotchy red from the fat tears dripping down his cheeks. He mops at his swollen eyes with the too long sleeves of the sweater and sniffs out a whiny, “ _I don’t want to break up_.”

Setting his empty glass down, Geralt comes to him then, pulling Jaskier’s face into his hands and shushing him. He presses his lips to Jaskier’s hairline and holds him. Geralt’s weight is like a blanket, a fortress from the world, and Jaskier cries out his anxieties in that gentle but solid embrace.

When he can speak without stuttering Jaskier whispers: “I am _so_ sorry.” 

“Stop,” Geralt runs a hand through Jaskier’s hair, “you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed by things. This was... _is_ a big deal. And you’re only human.”

“I just... I let it get to me, even when I knew I shouldn’t have.” Jaskier sniffs and clears his throat. “I knew people would say nasty shit — people have been saying nasty shit my whole life, you know — but... but it was like something got a hold of me and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop reading all the shit, all the comments, and then it wasn’t just online, but—,”

Geralt pulls back to look him in the eye, a ferocious anger written across his face. “Someone said something to you? In person?”

“Well, I—,”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Nobody!” Jaskier cries. “I promise, I promise — I was just overreacting. A secretary at work said something about you and I dating and I read too much into it. It just... compounded on top of everything else horrible I’d been reading over the past two weeks: that I’m using you for your money or blackmailing you for citizenship—,”

“I’m Canadian, though,” says Geralt, sounding so confused Jaskier can’t help but snort.

“I know,” he pats Geralt’s chest, “I found that to be the funniest theory of them all. Really, if I wanted citizenship I should have gone after Lambert. Or Borch, if I needed the money.”

“Lambert’s French-born, actually. German ancestry, but born in France.”

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, “everyone has to have some sort of flaw, right? There’s no cure for being French, unfortunately.”

It takes a moment for Jaskier to register that the trembling feeling coming from Geralt’s chest is laughter. He nestles tighter into the feeling, then lets himself be moved as Geralt lays them both down, side by side, on the couch.

“Hi,” says Jaskier, when they’re settled nose to nose, “come here often?”

"I live here,” Geralt replies.

“What a coincidence: So do I.”

Geralt kisses him soft on the mouth, then again and again. When he’s feeling properly kiss-drunk, Jaskier pulls away to brush a hand against Geralt’s face. He thinks about missing this, about letting his own head and anxieties get in the way of continuing to see this every day, and his heart tightens like a squeezed sponge.

No more early mornings spent wrapped together, unsure of where one of them stops and the other starts. No more late nights laying out during a camping trip, listening to Geralt tell him all about the constellations and what they mean. Even something as silly as listening to Geralt snore, he’d miss. 

Jaskier feels sorry he ever even brought up leaving and tells Geralt as much with a kiss to the throat.

“I didn’t mean to get into my own head,” he says, “but it was just so _easy_. And by the time I’d realized, I—,”

“But that’s why I’m here,” Geralt’s arms squeeze around him in a hug that’s just this side of too tight, “to pull you out of it. To remind you that those people don’t know what they’re talking about. Because I love you — all of you — all the time. Even on the days when you throw your temper tantrums about that one man in the History department who calls your poems garbage.”

“Valdo is a _worm_ , though, Geralt. I— ,”

Jaskier gets shushed for his troubles. Geralt keeps him in place, warm and secure, until he nearly falls asleep right there on the couch. There’s only one last thought, which passes slurred his lips, that keeps Jaskier awake.

“I don’t want to take a break, Geralt.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let me try and break up with you again.”

Geralt chuckles. “Never, starling.”

“Good.” Jaskier settles his ear over Geralt’s chest so he can listen to the pumping of his boyfriend’s heart; so he can know this moment is real and happening. “Very good.”

And some time between one breath and the next Jaskier falls asleep. 

* * *

Geralt must have carried him to their bed during the night because when Jaskier wakes it’s to the feeling of soft Egyptian cotton sheets and a massive arm wrapped snug around his waist.

He thinks to stay there for a moment, forever, but the pressing sensation of needing to pee makes Jaskier pry Geralt off his body. The latter groans in protest, which makes him sound like a whiny dog shaken from its nap.

“Just going to the toilet, love,” whispers Jaskier, kissing the tendons in Geralt’s hand, “be back in a flash.”

He does his business in record time, only stopping to grab his phone from the study and check his work email. By the time Jaskier returns, Geralt has already rolled into the warm spot Jaskier left behind and is looking unfairly regal in the morning sun. His hair shines white through the diffused rays. His face looks years younger.

Before he can help it, Jaskier finds himself snapping a photo of the scene with the focus on the intricate wolf, bird and star tattoo sprawled across Geralt’s exposed bicep. He posts it to his personal Instagram and doesn’t bother to look at the notifications tab. 

Crawling back into bed, Jaskier is immediately pulled into Geralt’s chest like they’re magnetized. It’s definitely not the worst feeling in the world.

“Happiness is a good look on you,” he tells Geralt while playing with his fingers, “makes you look not so... _grr_. You know?”

Geralt yawns. “Not sure what that means, but—,” he yawns again, “but as far as happiness goes, don’t sound so surprised. I’ve been wearing it for the last five years. I think you’ve just become immunized to it.”

“I like it when you’re happy,” says Jaskier.

“That’s good,” says Geralt. “You make me happy.”

Jaskier’s phone pings with a message via WhatsApp from a good friend, who’d known him since his Oxford days and was now dean to their St. John’s College of Medicine.

 _"Very jealous I have to share with Geralt now ;)_ ” it reads, and Jaskier can’t help but snort.

Geralt makes an inquisitive noise.

“Nothing.” Jaskier rubs, then scratches, Geralt’s arm. “Just a text from Shani. She sends us her love.”

The other man mumbles something that _might_ be “tell her I say hi,” but with how sleepy and rumbly Geralt is being, Jaskier supposes it could just be more grumbling noises. He types out a reply, then kisses Geralt on the knuckles, the wrist, his pulse point — anywhere Jaskier can reach.

Too awake to fall back asleep now, but content to let Geralt hold him, Jaskier reopens Instagram. He clicks over to his own profile and pulls up the most recent post. The likes, the comments — they all mean nothing.

It’s just about Geralt and him, about them together. The photo’s caption suggests as much.

“ _Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine_

_In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?”_

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to do the days out of order, nor be late on them, but this thought was a monster that wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Poems referenced include, in order:
> 
> \- "Sonnet 94," by William Shakespeare  
> \- "I Have Found What You Are Like," by e.e. cummings  
> \- "Love's Philosophy," by Percy Bysshe Shelley
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @[myrtlewilson](https://www.myrtlewilson.tumblr.com)!


End file.
